I wouldn’t hit you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half metre pole!

You have all the tender sweetness of a nauseous carriage horse, Fanny Dash-wood!

Given a choice between the two of you… I’d take the nauseous carriage horse!

You’re a foul cunt, Fanny Dash

You’re a nasty-wasty skank.

Your heart is full of mangled bonnets, your soul is an unreachable itch, Fanny Dash-wood…

The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote:

“Fuckwit! Twat! Bitch!”

You’re so rotten, Fanny Dash

You’re the queen of penny-pinching jerks.

Your heart’s a moldy olive splotched with furry black spots!

Your life is an appalling dung heap outside a sweaty crowded ball, overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable, and someone steps in it and then directly on the back of your white empire waist gown!

You nauseate me, Fanny Dash

You filthy stupid cow

You’re a crooked dirty fuckwit and it’s your loss because…

You’re a three decker bitch and wanker sandwich covered in dipshit sauce!

(With truly sincere apologies to Dr. Seuss, and absolutely no offense at all meant to Harriet Walter, whom I adore and admire.)